


Plant a Seed, Watch it Grow

by AlwaysKeepAiming



Series: Together We Will Stand [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, I'm really bad at tagging, Jon Snow is King in the North, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Political Bran ?, Political Sansa Stark, Post Season 6, Pre Season 7, Pre-Relationship, jonsa, royal customs, the pack survives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysKeepAiming/pseuds/AlwaysKeepAiming
Summary: Sansa isn’t surprised when the Northern Lords declare Jon Snow King in the North. She is surprised when months later, they demand he take her as his Queen.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Arya Stark & Bran Stark & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Together We Will Stand [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943203
Comments: 20
Kudos: 300





	Plant a Seed, Watch it Grow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome!  
> This is an AU piece, taking place after the Battle of the Bastards but before Cersei blew up the Sept. What is going on with Cersei and Dany don't really matter though as this is about the early months of Jon as King.  
> I’ve tried to keep the cultural elements from the show the same, but we didn’t get too much detail about the North under a monarchy. Throughout this piece, I’ve tried to define how the Northern Court would be. Keeping period typical behavior is important to me as I write my pieces, and that includes both the good and bad things.  
> I have definitely messed with the timeline of when and why some people return to Winterfell, but this is AU so whatever. I’m also not going to dig deep through the show and books to make sure all the houses and alliances are reflected correctly. I go with what I remember or can confirm quickly. So I guess, be gentle? Please?  
> I get inspiration and influence from the White Princess, the White Queen, and Vikings. I own nothing.  
> Enjoy!

Over the years, Sansa Stark had been called many things. Little Bird. Traitor. Alayne Stone. Lady Bolton. Many names to go with the many roles she has played. But the one she had grown to despise the most was when people called her the Key to the North. Ever since she was a young girl, she could remember all the lords talk about her that way. They’d call Robb the Heir, Bran the Spare, and she the Key to the North. 

It was simple to understand. She was Ned Stark’s eldest daughter and had been considered the best prize on the marriage market. Having her hand meant securing the alliance of the largest kingdom in Westeros. Ever since she was a young girl, she knew her marriage would be nothing more than a political move, reflecting the North’s best interests. A piece on the chessboard moved around to whatever lord could win her hand. She supposed that was why she’s been married twice and engaged five times. 

For years now Sansa has hated being reduced to a pawn in the game. Even when she tried to take control and be more than what others reduced her too, she was always overlooked or manipulated. She first tried with Littlefinger but was sold off to another marriage, a tool to secure the Bolton claim. She then rode with Jon Snow, to reclaim Winterfell. Even when she provided a vital alliance, the Knights of Vale, which won the battle for him, Sansa had to sit in the Great Hall and watch as her countrymen named Jon the King in the North. 

Sansa supposed she should be happy for him, despite the jealousy she felt stirring within. Jon was family and a win for him, ultimately meant a win for her as well. With him on the throne, she should be safe from people who would use or manipulate her. Winterfell belonged to the Starks once more, and a part of Sansa believed she would be free to live. 

The other part knew that was too good to be true, so as she supported Jon and gave him council, she kept her eyes open. She made notes of which lords were the most outspoken against Jon, assured Winterfell could continue to operate as it needed to, and took on the role of Lady of Winterfell. She urged Jon to be smarter and better than Ned and Robb before him. She needed him safe and on the throne for her own sake as much as his. There were wars to be fought, both to the North and to the South and they needed to band together if they stood a chance at survival. 

While she held control over the court, Jon displayed his military prowess, winning over the lords of the North, and focused his energies on the armies. He spent hours pouring over the maps and developing strategies for both wars. The more he prepared for war, the more loyal the Northern Lords became. Northern men were fighters and there was nothing like a war to bring them closer together. She supposed that made them quite the team, each having strengths that the others lacked. 

She thought that strength would only grow when Bran and Arya returned to Winterfell, barely a moon apart from each other. Her pack had grown, and Sansa felt complete. That peace only lasted a few days until Howland Reed’s unexpected arrival to court, and an announcement from Bran that shook her to her very core. They had gathered the court to discuss mustering arms and resources, but instead, Bran took it upon himself to change the topic of the meeting entirely. 

Jon wasn’t her brother, but instead her cousin, the lost son of Lyanna, and probably one of her many rapists during her captivity. Howland Reed swore this, describing how he and Ned Stark found Lyanna in the Tower of Joy, mere hours after giving birth before she died. 

“He’s still a Stark, he has the Stark blood. Who cares if it’s not Ned Stark’s?” Lord Manderly yelled, pounding his hand against the table. Sansa closed her eyes and breathed slowly. It had been like this since Bran shared the news of who Jon’s mother was. Lords were loudly voicing their opinions and the great hall was full of the echoing noise. 

Jon stood in the middle of the table, Sansa and Bran on either side with Arya off to one side. Sansa could barely process the news and could not even imagine how Jon felt. His face remained blank and void of any emotion. Every time Sansa checked on him, it was more of the same; not even flinching as people cried out against his character. 

“He’s a southron bastard! What right does he have to the throne in the North?” Lord Glover spoke just as loud as Lord Manderly, and there was a bite in his voice. 

“Jon Snow is a southron bastard in name only.” Arya reasoned, tilting her head at Lord Glover, her face an even expression, “He may have been born in the South, but he was raised in the North. He’s a Stark just like I am, just like we are.”  
Lord Glover’s face twisted into a scowl, “I don’t intend to bend my knee to anyone but a true Stark of the North.” 

“You knew he was a bastard from the moment you named him King, didn’t seem to matter then. If I recall correctly Lord Glover, you were quite outspoken in favor of Jon Snow.” Ser Davos pointed out. For the most part, the Northerners had come to accept Davos and understand how Jon valued his opinion more than most. 

However, his words only seemed to set the room off to even more bickering. Sansa glanced over at Jon to find his brow knotted together and his jaw set tightly. She wanted to do something, provide comfort or peace but had no idea what to do. Instead, she turned her gaze to Bran, who had said nothing since, and held a ghost of a smile. 

Lyanna Mormont stood, coming to Jon’s defense. The young lady from Bear Island had been one of Jon’s biggest supporters from the beginning. “What difference does blood make? If it’s Lyanna’s or if it’s Ned’s, it’s still Stark blood. We chose him, Milords. We declared him King in the North, not because of his birthright but because we believe in him!” 

“I declared him King because I believed he is the future of the North.” Lord Ryswell spoke up, glaring across the hall at Lady Mormont “Because I thought he was a Stark. I don’t want a Sand as our future.” That set off chaos in the hall, many lords and ladies bickering loudly. Some for Jon, some calling for the throne to be taken, some waiting to see how the majority fell. 

Sansa leaned back and laced her fingers together, studying the room. By her estimate, half the room seemed uneasy and would be swayed either way, a quarter still supported Jon, while a quarter was wanting to take the throne from him. Not exactly promising numbers. Her mind danced through different strategies, trying to figure out what Bran’s motives were. Sansa had no idea why Bran would do this and cause such a division in not only their country but their family.

A pounding on the table silenced the echoing yells. Lord Manderly. The older man had a demanding presence and had something he wanted everyone to hear. “Then let’s make sure our future is Stark.” Lord Manderly moved from his spot to the center of the hall to address Jon straight on. “Both of Ned’s Starks daughters live! Marry your cousin Your Grace, marry one of them, take the Stark name, and your children will be Starks.” 

Sansa’s eyes widen and her eyebrows jumped clear up her head. Jon’s face mimicked Sansa’s as he spoke for the first time, “I’m sorry, what?” Jon raised an eyebrow before falling back into his chair. Arya looked positively spooked at the idea of marriage, her face contorting into one of pure disgust. Sansa hoped her own face, while shocked, had remained neutral and fair, not lending any indication to her true feelings. 

Lord Manderly continued, beginning to pace around the open area of the great hall, knowing he had everyone’s attention. “Lady Sansa is of age. Hell, she’s been married twice as it is. She is the eldest child of Ned Stark and she is already serving as the Lady of Winterfell.” 

Sansa could feel Jon’s eyes burning into her, waiting for some type of reacting to Lord Glover’s words. Her determination to not give one burned brighter and she refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she watched as Lord Manderly was quickly winning over the other lords and ladies of the court. 

The half of the court that was uneasy, now nodded along, grinning at the idea of future Stark heirs. Even Ryswell and Glover seemed impressed and no longer looked like they were ready to challenge Jon right here and now. Sansa twisted her hands and pushed the details of the solution out of her brain. She wanted to focus on the positive, that they had a solution without involving Jon being removed from the throne, and not on the details that she would have to marry a man she considered her brother for a long time. 

“Ned Starks’ daughter and the Lady Lyanna’s son.” Lord Manderly repeated, a proud smile on his face for coming up with this idea. He turned to address the hall, “Who here, would continue to support Jon Snow as King in the North for this winter, and all winters to come, following his marriage to Lady Sansa?” 

Sansa darted her eyes around as she squeezed her hands together under the table, watching as various lords and ladies showed their support by show of hands. Lyanna Mormont and her allies were amongst the first, followed by Lord Manderly’s people. Alys Karstark and Ned Umber were next, eager to show their loyalty to Jon. Locke, Flint, and the representatives from Reed. Davos and Brienne also did not hesitate and soon enough the room was full of shining swords. Even Ryswell and Glover nodded to Jon before standing and showing their support as well. 

Damn. 

Was she now engaged? 

Only now, Sansa allowed herself to turn and look at Jon, sitting beside her. He too studied the room, one hand gripping Longclaw, probably more as a comfort than anything else. Tension wove through his brow. He needed to say something, but his mouth remained frozen in a line. 

Finally, he swallowed, “Thank you for your input. I will need to discuss it further with my family.” With a wave of the hand, he dismissed the court. 

Noise filled the hall as Jon stood wanting to make his exit. Arya sprung away from where she was standing and immediately headed for the exit. “I’ll be in your solar” She hissed as she passed the table Jon, Bran, and Sansa were sitting behind. She seemed upset, but Sansa was too focused on puzzling out what her possibly engagement would mean to think about it. She remained in her seat, staring at nothing in particular. 

Seeing Jon begin to push Bran towards the exit Arya had ducked out of moments ago, jolted Sansa from her thoughts. Bran’s lips were moving but she did not comprehend any words. They seemed intended for Jon anyway, who was leaning down as he pushed him to catch what her brother was saying. She stood slowly to keep her composure intact and then followed behind the two, a few paces behind. 

Outside the hall, the corridor seemed eerily silent. Bran had stopped whispering to Jon, and so the only noise came from the creak of the wheelchair and the echo of their boots. Sansa knew the silence wouldn’t last and so she took the time to calm her speeding heartbeat and shaky breaths. They stepped into Jon’s office, and Arya was waiting, ready to continue the conversation. 

“They cannot make you do this! You are our brother!” Arya cried as the rest of them filed into Jon’s office. Jon pushed Bran into a spot by the fire while Arya seemed content to pace the room. It was dizzying watching her, so Sansa focused on her hands as she took her own spot by the fire. Even with the thick walls of Winterfell, winter had crept in and the corridors had a chill to them. She enjoyed the moments of sitting by a fire more than anything. 

“Cousin.” Bran corrected. Sansa could feel his eyes on her, studying and waiting for some reaction that she didn’t want to give. After she had recovered from her initial shock, Sansa was sure to mask her face into one of indifference to hide her emotions. To be honest, Sansa wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Like with most things, she needed time to process and think about this new development.

Arya scoffed, throwing her head back, “I don’t give a damn about technicalities. You are my brother no matter what and I’ll stand by that.” Sansa sighed, shifting her body in the chair. Arya was looking at Jon with such intensity that even Sansa felt it. Jon was looking out the window at the courtyard with an empty expression on his face as well. Arya huffed and continued her pace, “I refuse, outright.” 

Sansa twisted her hands, wishing she had something to keep them busy and her mind occupied. Instead, she had to settle for staring up at the ceiling “Refuse all you want. It’s not you they want, it’s me.” She reminded her sister carefully, turning her gaze to Arya. The Key to the North. 

Arya glared at Sansa, her arms crossed tightly, “Well then we refuse.” She reiterated, dragging out the word ‘We’. Sansa darted her eyes away, unable to match her sister’s intense gaze. Despite the solar being spacious, it felt unbearably stuffy.

Bran was now looking off, straight into the fire, his voice oddly stoic now. “It is the only option to save our family and our people.” Whenever he got like this, eyes focused on something that Sansa couldn’t see, she knew he was looking elsewhere through his ravens. Or whatever. Bran had tried to explain his new role to them and while Jon and Arya took it in stride, Sansa still had difficulties understanding what it meant. “The pack must survive.” 

“You shouldn’t get to talk about this!” Arya cried, upset with Bran. Sansa shared her feelings but also held confusion about why Bran would so carelessly announce something like that in front of their Bannermen. The North remained fragile after the Boltons, and needed stability, not earthshattering news. “You had no right to speak of Jon’s parentage.”

“Our enemies are great. Warring queens to the South, one across the sea, and the dead beyond the wall. We need the North, the whole North if we want to stand a chance.” He continued unbothered by Arya’s harsh words, the fire reflecting in his eyes. Arya let out a loud sigh and a noise that was positively undignified in response. 

“You still had no right! You threaten all of us by so carelessly tossing out news like that.” Sansa stated, struggling to hide her frustration. She felt angry but she also felt betrayed that Bran would act against the family like this. “What do you hope to gain from this?” 

Bran blinked at her as if there was an obvious answer to her question, “A united North.” 

Sansa dropped her hands in her lap, “Do you seriously consider what happened in the hall a united North?” To Sansa that seemed more like a brink of a civil war and they were lucky to emerge still holding Winterfell.

From the corner of the room, Jon spoke up, “He means united by marriage.” He studied her, almost as if it was that snowy day at Castle Black and he was seeing her for the first time again.

“No one is getting married. We will think of something else.” Arya walked up to Jon and grabbed his hands shooting a death glare Bran’s direction. “We will think of something else! We always think of something.” Arya’s loyalty was burning through the room, hotter than the fire even. It’s just the way her sister is. She’d returned to Winterfell with a willingness to do anything to protect her family, but Arya is not the only one with that trait. 

As determined as Arya seemed, no matter how hard Sansa thought, no clear alternative popped up. A moment passed before she coughed and turned the attention to her. “I never said I refuse,” Sansa stated, standing up from the chair. 

Three sets of eyes snapped to her. Brushing down the skirt, she swallowed her nerves and doubts. Looking around at each of her siblings first and then finally to Jon, she nodded, “I’ll do it.” 

In actuality, her mind had been made up from the moment the Lords started questioning Jon and threatening to take his throne away, even if she didn’t consciously know it. She’d do whatever was needed of her to save her family. She’d been playing this game since Joffrey had her father slaughtered in front of her. 

Sansa knew her worth and her value as a woman. This marriage could unite the North and provide a strong front for their enemies. Having seen the court united in support of this, only fueled Sansa’s resolve. A forced, loveless marriage was nothing new to her and if it meant saving her family, then she would gladly do it. 

Jon stared at her, and she tried to hold his gaze best she could. Silently, she prayed her face showed no signs of weakness, only the determination she felt in her heart. “I’ll do it. Tell the Lords I agree to the marriage.” 

She had seemed to shock her siblings into silence with that announcement. For once, none of the Starks had anything to say. If it had been about anything else, she might have even laughed at Jon and Arya’s contorted, confused faces. Sansa gave them a moment as they all processed what she was willing to do. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to them though. Ever since she’d left Ramsay, a new fire burned within Sansa. The one that wanted to see the Starks safe in Winterfell once more for years to come. 

Tsking once, Sansa moved towards the door, “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Jon started to protest but she pretended not to hear him as the door clicked shut. Even in the cold hall, she could hear Arya start to say something, though she was unable to tell anything clearly. 

It was quiet in her room, and she felt grateful for the peace. She sat alone with her thoughts and finally be able to process everything that happened earlier on. Here she was, doing the one thing she’d swore she’d never do again. Marry. 

After Ramsey, she couldn’t bear the thought of doing it again. He had ruined it for her. But with the stakes what they are, how could she refuse? If Jon doesn’t marry her and he is taken from the throne, what would happen to her? Arya? Bran? Would the North cast them out as they did once before? Or would they stay true to their vows to support the Starks? Too many questions with too much uncertainty. She needed to keep Jon on the throne, no matter the cost. 

Steadying her breathing, Sansa picked up her latest sewing project. The simple repetitive motion of pulling the needle through the fabric could help her sort her thoughts. For a while, during her days in the capital, she’d rarely stitch anything, especially after the death of her father and later her mother and brother. Then there were no materials as she traveled with Petyr Baelish and then during her marriage to Ramsay, she couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking enough to do it. 

Now, she clung to her stitching. A straightforward task as her mind worked. She’d do anything she could get her hands on, from making herself a new dress, embroidering a wolf onto Bran’s cloak, hemming Arya’s pants, or repairing holes worn into Jon’s shirt. Currently, she was making new straps for Lady Brienne’s cloak. A sort of thank you gift for remaining by her side as her sworn shield. 

A knock on the door interrupted Sansa. She knew it was unlikely that her family leave her alone, so the knock came as no surprise. Now which of the three it would be, that was the question. “Sansa?” Jon. 

Sansa hesitated, unsure if she wanted to see him or not. She’d wanted Bran as he would take her side but knew that he was the least likely to be at her door. Even Arya with all her fire and spite would be better to deal with. However, Jon was here, and she couldn’t turn him away. “Come in.” 

She hated how her voice wavered. Clearing her throat, she waited until Jon was in the room and the door shut behind him. Barely pulling her eyes from the piece of leather in her hands, she addressed him. “If you are going to try and sway me, don’t bother my mind has already been made up.” 

“Sansa, please-.” 

Sansa continued, not wanting to hear anything he has to say, “I will plan it, naturally. I’m sure time will be of the essence. Nothing extravagant-.” This began a battle of wits and who could talk louder than the other as she pushed the needle, turned the leather to grab it, and pull it through.

“Just hold on-.” Push, turn, pull. 

“Most all the lords and ladies are already here-.” Push, turn, pull

“Can you just, Sansa-.” Push, turn, pull. 

“Though I am sure they will want a feast so we will need time for the hunting parties to be sent out.” Push, turn, pull, push, turn, pull. 

Even though Sansa was winning, Jon was angrier. He banged his fist against the doorway. “Seven Hells Sansa! Can you stop for a moment and listen to me?” His voice echoed off the walls of the room, stalling Sansa, her needle posed to be pushed through the leather again. A breath before she cast her eyes over to Jon standing by the doorway. Her brother, no cousin, no intended. Jon. 

A breath. “I don’t want to fight.” His hand lifted, a sign of surrender, as he took a few steps towards Sansa and the chair next to hers. “But we don’t have to do this. We can-.” 

She scoffed, a very unladylike noise, but she didn’t care in the slightest. Nor did she care she was interrupting him, again, “Here we go.” Her attention turned back to her stitching and she pulled the thread with more vigor than before. 

Jon groaned loudly, bracing himself against the back of the open chair, “Sansa, stop! You do not have to do this. Arya is right, we will think of something else.” 

“Oh really? Like what? From where I sit, our options are very limited. You saw the lords in there. Some are calling for your throne and what will happen to the rest of us if they take it?” Sansa’s voice grew with increasing intensity as did every pull of the thread.  
She continued, “Do you think they will do so kindly to a cripple, an assassin, and the Lady Bolton raised by Lannisters? They will take Winterfell from us, and the North will be left unprotected.” Pulling the needle through, she did so too aggressively and broke the thread. She hissed as the thread frayed, her work falling apart before her eyes. 

“Damn it!” She yelled, throwing the straps back into the basket that held all her stitching and sewing materials. The straps were supposed to be a gift, but her growing frustration had ruined them. 

Jon still stood, frozen and oblivious to her annoyance, eyes trained on the fire. “I wouldn’t let it come to that, but even if it did, you all would be fine because of your blood. You are Starks, all of you.” He had yet to look at her again and while his words cut through the room it didn’t have the intended effect on Sansa. She was too tired to be intimidated by his short voice which only sounded hollow and empty to her. 

Tears filled her eyes as she fought to keep her composure, electing to join him in staring at the fire. Watching the flames dance around the embers was certainly easier than looking at Jon. “And how is your Stark blood treating you?” She gestured once with her hand propped up on the armrest, before resting her heavy head in it. “They are still turning on you.”

“You are Ned’s eldest living child. The throne would go to you. I have no doubt.” Jon sighed, falling into the chair next to hers. His idiocy seems to know no bounds and the noise Sansa made was positively unladylike. The two looked at each other, Jon’s face a picture of confusion, while Sansa pursed her lips and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“The throne to me?” She repeated, making sure she heard him right as she pinched the bridge of her nose, “Are you that daft? Have you forgotten I am a woman? They would overlook me, as they always have and always will. I will be kept away until the next man of value makes a play for my hand and then he will sit on the throne.” 

Jon tsked and turned away from Sansa, “Don’t say that. You are the Lady of Winterfell” The words rolled out of his mouth before he turned to glare at her again. She didn’t meet his gaze though and instead watched as her fingers tapped against the wood of the chair. This conversation felt draining and she didn’t have any energy to educate him on what it was like to be a lady, even a noble lady. 

Switching her tactic, she focused on the logistics, hopefully appealing to his military side. “Half the houses who stood against us are looking for a reason to turn, Jon. We need to give them a reason not to.” She spoke slowly, pausing to let it sink in. If they were to marry, not only would it calm the houses, but give Jon another ally and a husband would double Sansa’s reach and influence. 

“They’ve all sworn fealty to House Stark. I’m sure with time-.” Sansa didn’t even let him finish his sentence before she interrupted, banging her hand against the arm of the chair. 

“We don’t have time Jon! The dead march south, and it is only a matter of time before the Lannisters turns to the North.” Apart of her wanted to hit him but knew that would go nowhere. And now they were yelling again, “We need a united North and we need it today!”  
“I know what is at stake here! I know our enemies could be at our door any day now. I know!” Jon’s voice topped hers in volume, echoing off the walls. 

Sansa clapped once to enunciate her point, “Then do something about it!” 

“I’m trying Sans. I really am. I’m trying to hold the North together best I can, but I don’t know what I’m doing, and everywhere I turn, there’s another man’s loyalty I’m questioning.” Jon yelled back, turning in his seat. Out of the four of them, Jon had the thickest accent, probably from his time up on the wall. When his temper rose, his accent got thicker, dragging across the words he spoke. 

"This will solve that! Why can't you see that!" Both were braced against the armrest of the chair, breathing deeply. Sansa knew she was the only one who would yell at Jon this way. They both had simmering tempers. They kind that remained unseen until it boiled over. More often than not, it was at the hands of the other and the two would yell it out. 

Currently, their tempers burned hotter than the room, but Sansa recognized they were getting nowhere. They needed to refocus. “I don’t know why Bran wanted this but it is honesty and I commend that, but this, it’s not good.” Sansa sighed, trying to level her voice. Exhaustion weighed her shoulders down. “This is the news that fuels a rebellion. We have so many enemies that we cannot afford to waste time to qualm a rebellion. We must do what we can to survive.”

For a long moment, Jon didn’t say anything, slouching in his chair instead. When he did finally, his voice barely wavered above a whisper, “I know.” He sounded younger and tired. 

“Then make this decision. It’s what the Lord’s want and that will unite the North.” No matter how much a mistake she thought it was announcing his mother, it was out there. Now they had to deal with it in whatever way the lords demanded it. 

She maintained her gaze, hopefully breaking down his will to resist, “Is it what you want?” He asked, barely looking at her.

Sansa sighed deeply, trying to formulate her thoughts into words. “What we want doesn’t matter.” She bit, twisting her hands in her lap. Loveless marriages for political reasons happen all the time. Theirs would be no different.

Jon tsked and ran his hand through his curls, “I just want there to be another way. I swore I’d protect you and forcing you to do this, it isn’t right. They have no right forcing our hands like this. It isn’t fair.” 

He sounded like a child, complaining about rules he couldn’t change. Sansa had dealt with this for long enough. For all the horrors Jon had seen and dealt with through the years, he had a warped sense of seeing the world. He wanted problems to be solved cleanly and nicely. Sansa had spent enough time with the Cersei’s and Littlefinger’s of the world to know that never happens. 

“You aren’t forcing me. I am doing this willingly.” She fixed him with a long stare. “Enough with the nonsense Jon. Grow up and be a king. Be a Stark.” They had discussed this enough. She hit a nerve with that last comment, Jon stiffening in his seat in response. He still struggled to see himself as a Stark despite having all the best qualities of the Stark men before him. 

Her words seemed to sink in as Jon’s eyes darkened. His gaze was equally as tense, and he had no problem holding her stare. “They would expect heirs-.” He started, but she cut him off. 

“Do not lecture me about my wifely duties. I know what would be expected of me.” She bit. His last effort to sway her, but she had already thought that aspect through. 

Their whole marriage was about securing the future of the North and that meant children. While Jon had never needed to think about children, Sansa had been raised knowing she needed to bear children for her future husband, whether she wanted to or not. She just never thought it would be with a man she once thought as a brother. But if she could survive Ramsey, she could get over the queasy idea of laying with Jon. She’d figure the very least, her children would be handsome.

Jon had grown from the awkward, moody, teenager he had once been into a good man. The scar around his eye had faded into a thin line, and his beard made him seem both older and more distinguished. All was centered around his kind eyes that would light up anytime he smiled, despite how rare those moments are. His form had filled out as well, probably from the years of training and hard work up at Castle Black. In her head, she began to picture a little boy and girl, with curly dark hair but bright Tully blue eyes

“I will call the lords back after lunch, to announce our engagement. Take the time and just be sure.” Jon stood abruptly from the chair, interrupting her thoughts. He left the room in two quick motions, leaving behind only empty air in the chill of Sansa’s rooms. She huffed, staring at the space he had occupied, an annoyance settling into the pit of her stomach. 

The rest of lunch passed slowly. The tray the maids brought in from the kitchen remained untouched as Sansa alternated between pacing the room and staring out the window until she couldn’t bear it anymore and left her rooms. She knew that her family was scattered throughout Winterfell, all coming to terms with this. Bran would be in the Godswoods or Crypts, Ayra at the shooting range, and Jon in the training yards. 

A short meander later and Sansa found herself upon the battlements, staring out at the moors surrounding her home. White snow covered the plains and it was beautiful to see. Even the bite of the frigid air couldn’t take away from the simple beauty. She could have stayed out there all day, breathing in the fresh air. It calmed her and focused her racing mind. The vastness of the open North made it seem like their problems were lifetimes away.

But of course, they weren’t and duty came first. It wasn’t long before Hanna, her maid, found her. “Apologies, my lady, but the Court has gathered, and they await you and the king.” Taking in one last deep breath, Sansa opened her eyes, her hardened mask falling into place. It was time. 

“Thank you, Hanna” She whispered, passing her to head inside. 

Arya stood a little down from the exit of the battlements, waiting for Sansa. She could only imagine how her sister felt about her engagement. Arya always saw Jon as her brother, and while Sansa never shared the same emotions, she expected Arya to think she did. Arya seemed the most upset by the marriage and Sansa assumed her feelings would remain. 

Surprisingly, Arya remained quiet, only reaching out to squeeze Sansa’s hand before following her down towards the Great Hall. She stayed a step behind Sansa though, following dutifully. That was new too but served as a reminder as Sansa’s new position as the highest-ranking lady in the North.

However, knowing Arya, she wanted Sansa to be certain of what she would be getting into. “Are you okay with this?” She kept her gaze forward and hands held tightly, finding it too hard to look back at the disappointing scowl her sister almost certainly had painted on her face. 

It took a moment for Arya to answer, “No. But I’ll cope. Jon’s already lectured me, and as much as I hate to say it, Bran’s right. We need to unite the North.” 

Sansa snapped her attention back on her walk, her mind racing again. She and Arya walked in relative silence leaving her a chance to organize her thoughts. She focused instead on the growing to-do list before they wed, leaving the thoughts of her sister’s bitterness, whatever Bran’s plan was, and her impending role of Queen with its own implications to the side. She would need to process those, but at another time. 

They rounded the hall to find Bran already waiting for them. Two guards stood at the entrance to the Great Hall, but no one spoke. Sansa saw no sight of Jon but could not miss the glare Arya gave Bran. She hoped that Arya could get the time she desperately needed to come to terms with this and Bran would explain his rationale. Perhaps not today, but soon. 

Jon finally appeared with Ser Davos and Maester Wolkan. She knew Jon had little trust for the latter man and had already written to a friend of his down at the Citadel who was training for his trains. Apparently, this man current task was to be Maester for the Night’s Watch but Jon had told her he was confident he could sway the man to come to serve Winterfell instead. 

Arya shared a long look with Jon, but no words, while Bran merely stated once more, “The pack must survive.” Sansa ignored the urge to slap him as he seemed to have little care for how his words hurt his family. But they had other priorities and a room full of people waiting. 

To her surprise, Jon extended his hand to escort her in. He held it very rigidly and formally. This was quite possibly the first time he had to escort a lady before. She had seen Castle Black and felt certain there was never a reason for that level of etiquette. Cautiously, she accepted, noting how Ser Davos nodded in approval. 

With a loud creak, the guards opened the door, and the court fell silent to watch them walk in. The walk to their chairs felt impossibly long as everyone was noting how she walked with him. She tuned them out best she could, but it proved difficult. Jon seemed oblivious to the whispers, only his end destination in mind. Lifting her chin a little higher, Sansa counted her steps to the table. 20 long paces, and then five around. 

Jon sat immediately once he got to his chair, allowing the rest of the court to settle, Sansa herself included. Arya pushed Bran to the spot-on Jon’s right before crossing behind and taking her spot, on Sansa’s side, slightly in front of the table. Jon had offered her many times to sit with them, but she preferred standing. Either behind them, or off against the wall, or occasionally positioned protectively in the front. 

The court was uncharacteristically silent, waiting for Jon to speak. He glanced around the room once before clearing his voice and standing. Even then, he didn’t say anything, and for a moment, Sansa thought he was changing his mind, in the moment. The hall was so quiet that Sansa was sure he could hear her heart beating loudly. What was he waiting for?

“My Lords, Ladies.” Finally. “After consideration, the Lady Sansa and I have agreed to marry.” Instantly, the sound of banging fists on the table and stomping feet erupted, a sign of approval in the North. 

Jon raised a hand, having something else to say. It took a moment, but soon enough the hall fell quiet once more. “Immediately after our wedding, Lady Sansa will be crowned as Queen in the North and she will be my queen of equal.” 

Today was really testing her ability to hide her emotions. Heat burned up her neck and through her cheeks as everyone glanced at her. Swallowing once, Sansa surveyed the room. While many people were murmuring amongst themselves, no one seemed particularly upset. Primarily confused, which Sansa felt herself. This was new to them. Before Robb, the last King in the North was hundreds of years ago, and many protocols of having a king, and now a queen were lost to them. Robb in any case was a king of war and never held court at Winterfell. 

“What do you mean your grace?” Lord Glover spoke up, probably asking the question everyone was thinking. 

Jon took a deep breath before answering, “I mean exactly as I say. Lady Sansa will be my queen of equal. You will treat her as you treat me, and you will respect her as you respect me. We will rule, protect, and defend the North as one. You said you wanted your future to be Stark, that will start with this marriage.” 

Arya was looking back at them, her face neutral but her eyes hinting at approval. Even Bran had cracked a smile, small as it is. “If that is the case, then I move that following the wedding, my cousin would be known as Jon Stark.” Bran addressed the room. 

It remained still and silent, no one coming to speak about the conditions Jon and Bran set forth. Was anyone going to say anything, or had this all been for nothing? Sansa twisted her hands under the table, waiting for someone to do something. Finally, movement caught her eye and the anticipation would soon be over. 

Lord Manderly stood and glanced around the whole room. This had been his plan, and if he supported it, others would follow. “I knew Catelyn Stark, as did many of us. But I also knew Lyanna Stark and had the chance of meeting Lyarra Stark. I can say Lady Sansa has the best of the Stark women before her and has served us well as the Lady of Winterfell. It would be my honor to bend the knee to Lady Sansa as the Queen in the North. And as for your name, your grace. It’s about bloody time!” 

Once again, the noise of fists banging and feet stomping resumed as Jon sat down. Now Arya smiled fully as the lords and ladies beat their fists even louder than the first time. Sansa let out the breath she had been holding, knowing what security this would bring to the North. 

Sansa leaned over to Jon as he took his seat again, “You know I am not going to make things easy for you. I am not going to be a piece on the board.” She whispered. Hopefully, that served as a gentle reminder of every time Sansa spoke up and questioned Jon.  
Jon turned towards her and presented his open hand to her. “I’m counting on it.” At least he knew what he was getting himself into. 

His open hand remained outstretched to her and she laid hers in his, ignoring the part of her that noticed they fit nicely together. She noticed early when he walked her in, and she noticed it now. He gave it a squeeze and spoke to her softly. “Everyone will know and respect you as Queen.” 

Sansa couldn’t hide the smile that exploded from her face. Queen in the North. A united nation. Hope. “And together, we will protect the North.” His smile matched hers and he looked at her like she was the only one in the room. If only she could block out the noise coming from the rest of the court. 

“Aye. Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, the Northerners are only aware of who Jon's mother is for certain. Bran's plan was to get a marriage out of this and therefore only revealed the information relevant to get the marriage. Bran is hard to write and if he came off more mean, that was not necessarily my intention. He is supposed to be mysterious. He wants the living to win and thinks the only way they can is by Jon and Sansa's marriage.  
> I intended to write a few more pieces in this AU hence why this is one of a series. If you enjoyed, keep an eye out for more!


End file.
